


Composure

by AlacritiousEidolon (p_3a)



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gender Dysphoria, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-11 08:19:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_3a/pseuds/AlacritiousEidolon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Wrathion comforts a grief-stricken Anduin Wrynn after the Prince of Stormwind had just had it suggested that his mentor and father-figure, Bolvar Fordragon, had met a less peaceful end than he had originally thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Composure

**Author's Note:**

> The result of an RP between myself and Mezduin/LuckOfTheDreads. Mez’s paragraphs are in italics; mine are in plain text.

_Anduin tried his best to maintain his composure as he stumbled through the halls of Lion’s Landing. He didn’t want any of the guards to see, but he knew that all he passed could see the tears streaming down his cheeks, the way he stumbled around corners and into walls in his haste. He finally managed to make it to his room, where he croaked “No visitors” and shut the door firmly behind him, keeping his guards outside. Weakly, he stumbled to his bed and sat heavily upon it._

_The young Prince tried to take deep breaths, to calm himself down, but each time he tried, he would draw in air and let it out in a quick, shaky rush. It only served to fuel his tears, and soon enough, he was slumped on his side in the bed, sobbing pathetically into a pillow._

_Just the thought… that Bolvar was out there, somewhere, and refused to see him - to have anything to do with him._

_It hurt so badly that he could feel the pain, physically._

The single-glazed window had always been a tight fit, and Wrathion supposed he’d have to start finding another way into Anduin’s room sooner or later. But for now, the whelp squeezed through the ajar frame, landing in a slightly undignified fashion on the windowsill with a “splat” as his wings fell flat against it.

No matter. He picked himself up, dropping his feet over onto the floor and looking around, now in his humanoid form, for the person he had come to visit.

“Prince Andu—” he’d began to call in a sing-song tone, only to notice the heaving shoulders and the blond mess of hair on the bed.

“Why… whatever is the matter?” He almost sounded incredulous, as though nothing could  _possibly_  be troubling his Prince when he was present; but his body language betrayed his concern, hands clapsed in front of him and entire torso tilted towards the older man.

_The first set of noises went unnoticed, as Anduin was trapped in his own pattern of painful thinking. It was impossible! Bolvar wasn’t alive, and if he was, he would come to Anduin as quickly as possible. He would let the young Prince know, and if he didn’t, it would be for a good reason. It would be because Bolvar couldn’t, surely._

_And yet, even though he didn’t doubt himself at all, the very thought that Bolvar had abandoned him scarred him deeply. He felt cold, no matter how he curled up against himself - bad leg outstretched - as if retaining his heat could keep the pain out._

_When he heard Wrathion’s voice, he changed entirely. Anduin sucked in a quick, deep breath and sat up straight in the bed, propped up on his hands. He wiped his eyes, clearing his face with one quick motion, and he smiled at Wrathion, trying to look pleasant despite the red puffiness to his eyes._

_“Wrathion!” he chirped, voice scratchy despite the way he’d tried to sooth it. “Nothing’s wrong! Everything’s fine! What brings you here?” He was well aware of how hasty he’d blurted everything out. He was well aware of the fact that Wrathion would buy none of it, but it had all happened so quickly - out of reflex. He wanted nothing more than to collapse against the dragon and cry until his ribs cracked, but he couldn’t. He simply couldn’t. A Prince didn’t do such things._

“Your face looks like it’s been stung by a wasp,” he said flatly, though yet again it was the way he glanced at the dishevelled bedding and the damp patches on his clothing that gave away his worry.

Thinking for a moment, he held a finger out as if announcing an idea and approached the bed to sit down at his usual proximity. “I came to tell you that lying doesn’t suit you,” he trilled. “You should either get better at it or not try at all. I much prefer it when it’s truths on that tongue of yours, pretty or not.” The implication being that anything, on Anduin’s tongue, was so. He figured he’d give the prince a chance to own up, at least.

_Anduin’s face fell at Wrathion’s words, and he looked away. He only allowed the action for just a moment, before he turned back to the Black Prince and frowned, managing to look calm, through that. The little bit of truth made the lie all the easier to believe, of course._

_Naturally, Wrathion was having none of it._

_“What are you talking about, Wrathion?” Anduin asked, voice still scratchy. “You flew all the way here to tell me something that isn’t even true?” He was a fantastic liar. Sometimes. It just so happened that two people in particular were very good at seeing through him: his father and Wrathion._

Wrathion meshed his fingers together and rested them in his lap. “I asked you very politely if you would stop it. If you continue to defy me I shall be forced to resort to more drastic measures.”

Looking sidelong at Anduin, a small smirk curled at the edge of his face, like a secret. He held himself like he was tall, back straight and head tipped to the side so he could look down his nose, but in reality even with Anduin’s posture not exactly perfect like it usually was, Wrathion was still the shorter of the two.  _One day_ , he silently plotted.  _One day I will be a dragon the size of a castle and there is nothing he can do to be taller than me._

_Anduin wrinkled his nose and sat up straight, squaring his shoulders in an attempt to look bigger than Wrathion - partly because he was. Well, he was taller, at least. He knew that a good deal of arguing with the whelp was making himself look like the bigger and more intimidating one. At the very least, it was occasionally necessary to make sure his point was listened to._

_“It’s nothing, Wrathion,” he stated firmly. “It isn’t anything to worry about. Drop it.” He didn’t realize that he’d somewhat changed his story, which rather undermined the whole posturing thing, but he could feel his resolve wavering. In reality, he felt like it was too silly to bother Wrathion with._

He squared his jaw. “I came here to jab at you regarding that infernal recording which was so obviously your voice, my Prince. Needless to say whatever makes this -” he points bluntly to Anduin’s face, and his eyes “- is far more important than what I originally arrived for. Now.” He tipped his head again, this time towards Anduin to make full eye contact; challenging, and assertive. “Tell me before I lose my patience.”

The harsh words were tempered almost immediately by a hand - warm almost to the point of uncomfortable, as always - placed on Anduin’s shoulder. The gesture was intended to be reassuring and comforting, though Wrathion knew he tended to miss the mark a little on the aggressive side even when he was actively trying to be gentle.

_“Oh what do you-” He cut himself off when Wrathion’s hand found his shoulder. He glanced down to the dragon’s gauntleted hand and felt the tears well up in his eyes again. He sniffed, hiccuped, and turned away, trying to pull away from the contact, but he didn’t manage to move far. In order to that, he’d have had to rise from the bed, and that was too arduous of a process to try and attempt._

_To try and keep his guard up, Anduin lifted a hand to try and knock Wrathion’s away while he brought his other up to wipe at his face._

_“What do- What do you know, Wrathion,” he continued, but there was no conviction to his words. He stammered a bit more before hissing to himself and trying once again to take a few calming breaths. They didn’t help that time, either._

“I know that you’re upset,” he said, allowing his hand knocked away but leaving it lying on the sheets closer to Anduin than himself. “And that you do not cry. So it’s simply impossible that there is nothing wrong. Meaning, something caused you to be this way.”

His voice dropped to a steady, dangerous tone. “Which means I may have some throats to rip if there is a person responsible who yet lives.” Raises his eyebrows, and the usual lilt of permanent near-sarcasm returns to his voice. “Otherwise, it’s simply a case of offering you comfort.”

_Anduin’s gaze shot up to Wrathion’s eyes when he spoke with such anger, surprised and worried at what the dragon might do. He relaxed only marginally when Wrathion’s tone was raised to normal._

_When he listened to Wrathion’s words, however, it hit something deep within him. The dull ache from earlier - the one that came from even thinking such a thing about Bolvar - returned, only this time, it was different. There was a comfort, there. Even though he was in pain, he had Wrathion, and Wrathion was offering him comfort. Happiness._

_Safety._

_The blond hiccuped, the tears flowed anew, and Anduin lunged forward to wrap his arms around Wrathion. He started sobbing once more, babbling intelligibly about Bolvar, about someone suggesting that Bolvar was alive and wanted nothing to do with him. He rambled hasty, complicated sentences about how he knew it was ridiculous, but the thought hurt him all the same. The thought that someone would try to harm him in that way just stung all the more._

Wrathion breathed out steadily, chin tucked up against Anduin’s shoulder and - stiffly at first, as if remembering how to dance - returned the hug, making it tight with comforting strokes at the prince’s back.

It was true, what he was saying. Wrathion’s face, unseen by anyone, hardened as Anduin told him how cruel they had been to him to tell him this; it was a lie crafted beautifully in his image, for him to wear like a crown, and to see it destroyed was a sadness Wrathion could not bear.

“It’s alright,” he soothed; “if that was true I would tell you.”

The lie rolled easily off his tongue. He knew Anduin would accept it, as it was what he wanted to hear. And he didn’t feel bad. …did he? How confusing… and slightly alarming.

He tipped his face to Anduin’s and nuzzled him. He hated to admit it, but seeing Anduin in such a state confused him. He knew the other prince had been holding back a lot of things, but - to see it all laid bare like this was something different than having the theory in mind.

_Even as he bitterly sobbed, Anduin gathered strength and comfort from Wrathion’s presence. The dragon was warm, soothing just by being there, and Anduin found himself starting to calm in record time. Of course, part of that was because he was willing himself to stop._

_When Wrathion spoke, it became so much easier. He found his body relaxing, his sobs subsiding, and the words simply clicked with him. Wrathion was right. If he knew, he would have told Anduin. He’d have passed along that information._

_Bolvar was dead. It was the only possibility._

_He calmed further when Wrathion’s face found his, and he couldn’t help but pull back slightly, to turn his head and brush his lips against the younger Prince’s. He still felt raw, hurt, but the black dragon was helping him pull himself back together. He took a deep breath, trying to hold on to his tenuous moment of calm. His breathing still came raggedly, his body still shook, but he was no longer sobbing. It was a start._

Any doubts Wrathion had about whether that was the right thing to do melted as Anduin began to calm. He even found his usually detached self reassured by the human’s reaction, running one gloved hand through his hair as he allowed the brief semblance of a kiss. Opening his red eyes again after it, he examined Anduin’s face intensely; then put a kiss on his forehead.

“Now then, would you like me to read you something? Or perhaps another activity to…” his words faultered briefly as Anduin breathed in again. “…help stabilise yourself?” For the first time today he seemed a little unsure of himself, but he swatted any outward expression of this way not long after it appeared.

_Anduin couldn’t help it. The opportunity had presented itself so perfectly that a shaky smirk spread across the young blond’s face before he could even think about it. He leaned back, made eye-contact with the younger Prince, and when he spoke, his voice was shaky. There was no conviction in his words. It would be painfully obvious that he was joking._

_“You can read?” he rasped. “I thought you were only two?”_

“Two in dragon years,” he retorted indignantly despite himself, then smirked. “Why, I’ll even prove it to you.”

He stood up proudly and stalked over to the bookshelf, where he immediately glanced at the top shelf. “Ah, what’s this?” Glanced back at Anduin with a sharp grin as he pointed to the tome in question. “A Tale of Two Princes… how interesting.” He pulled it down from the shelf between two talons, looking intently at Anduin.

_Anduin found himself grinning widely at the usual retort, and he leaned back on his hands to watch Wrathion head to the bookshelf. He felt good._

_When Wrathion read the book’s title, however…_

_“Oh! Wrathion!” Anduin sat up straight and scooted toward the edge of the bed. “You don’t have to read that! It- It’s terrible.” He grinned awkwardly, hoping that Wrathion wouldn’t notice the fact that the book appeared… clearly well-read._

“Is this a  _second-hand_  book, Anduin Wrynn? Only, the pages appear quite creased and the cover rather worn.” He sniffs it. “Oh, and is that—” he looks at the prince and grins, leaving the pause in the air for a moment before resolving - “dust? I can’t believe you would have had such a well-loved book hanging around on your shelves for so long after its previous owner appreciated it so much! We simply must give it a read, don’t you think?” He approached the bed again and sat down, holding the book conveniently out of Anduin’s snatching reach.

_“That’s hardly necessary!” Anduin tried to scoot closer to the younger Prince so he could make a grab for the book. “Really! It’s probably not very good at all!”_

_Why oh why did Wrathion have to find the book then of all times? When his guard was already down, and his composure had already cracked into a thousand pieces. If it was any other time, he’d be able to think up a convincing lie about the book, but then? Well, he was out of luck._

He held it at arm’s length away from Anduin and laughed. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like it as a lovingly-rendered story in my dulcet tones? Why, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were concerned about sharing such a good book with me.”

In truth, he’d spotted the tome weeks earlier, and been curious as to its contents ever since. He simply hadn’t been able to resist the temptation any longer, and it served as a good distraction to the blond, at least. He much preferred seeing him flustered to upset. …which made him wonder what would happen when some of his more convoluted plans came to fruition.

No matter; the here and now was what needed focussing on, and here and now involved Anduin reaching across Wrathion’s chest for the book, his breath close enough to be audible even when he wasn’t speaking. Wrathion kept his posture open and inviting despite leaning away to keep the book out of reach of the larger prince’s grasp.

_“Come now, Wrathion,” he stammered, still trying to reach for the book. Curse his injured leg, restricting his mobility. If he was fully recovered, he’d have been able to leap across the dragon and take the thing._

_Or he could have just stood up. He was taller, after all. However, in the time it would take him to get up, Wrathion would be able to scramble around to a better location._

_He had to admit, the idea of Wrathion reading the book… No! He couldn’t allow the dragon to glance at even a single word of the book. Wrathion would never let him live it down - ever - and he would never believe it if Anduin tried to tell him that he’d never read it._

_Finally, an idea occurred to Anduin. He shifted his weight and shoved against Wrathion, to try and knock the dragon down, to lay on top of him on the bed and even out the height problem. That way, he would be able to simply reach up and take the book back. That was, if it worked._

Wrathion let himself fall back onto the bed, a smug grin on his face and the book clapsed loosely in his hand. “No story today, then, I take it.” He looked at the blond directly, slitted eyes dilating. “Unless you wanted to make one of our own.” Book lying more or less by his head, his other hand came to rest on Anduin’s hip, firm and grounding.

There was a second purpose - his hand close to skin, he could feel the older prince’s pulse, and watching his face he could measure his breathing and the tiny twitches at his eyes and mouth which gave away his true feelings especially when he was already worn down like this. He just wanted to check he was alright - with the teasing, and after that lie which had protected him was so heartlessly cracked.

_Anduin snatched the book at the first opportunity, but Wrathion’s words made him realize just what he’d done to get it. His eyes shot down to Wrathion’s, and he stared, wide-eyed, surprised at himself. Very slowly, that surprise melted into mild, slightly shocked confusion._

_On one hand, it was a fantastic distraction. Surely, Wrathion would forget about the book. It would also distract Anduin from all that had gone on that day. On the other hand, he didn’t want to just use Wrathion to make himself feel better. That wouldn’t be right._

_Then again, Wrathion was staring at him with such intensity - with concern. Shakily, a smile spread across Anduin’s face. His expression softened. For a long moment, Anduin showed Wrathion a completely unguarded expression - of affection, gratitude. Of love._

_“Wrathion… Thank you.”_

Wrathion’s own expression shifted under Anduin - from smug confidence to something closer resembling adoration. It didn’t suit Wrathion’s features at all - he was a being created to strike fear and distant admiration into observers in equal measures, not… whatever this infurating little prince was showering him with. Regardless, it felt… how could this human feel such a way about him?

He brushed the feelings aside in favour of a quiet smile, letting go of the book to bring his hand to Anduin’s face, brushing a strand of his fringe away from his eye. His tone lacking its usual mocking edge, he returned the honesty - “I feel deeper for you every day that I even so much as think of you, my Prince.”

_As out of place as it was, Anduin couldn’t help but admire the expression. It was a rare gift, and he wanted to soak it in as well as he could. Something about just how awkward it seemed only endeared the blond even more to Wrathion. It made him feel so much closer. They both seemed to feel so uncomfortable in their own skins, sometimes, especially when expressing themselves in such a way._

_He closed his eyes and leaned slightly into the touch. It was so strange. He felt raw and bared and vulnerable, but he liked it. He honestly liked laying himself open, like this, for Wrathion to see, even with his eyes red and puffy, tears still drying on his face._

_“Wrathion…” His voice was barely even a whisper when he opened his eyes and gazed lovingly down at the dragon beneath him. Words failed him. He had no idea how he could possibly return the sentiment._

_He opted to lean down and kiss Wrathion, more firmly than he had, earlier, but still chaste._

Wrathion still felt a surge of… something every time Anduin kissed him. He doubted he’d ever stop. He leant up to meet him, running his fingers through the blond hair of his companion, letting Anduin lead. After all, it wouldn’t do to calm him down to this stage only to upset him again by being too forceful or forward.

It was… comforting to be here. He hated to admit to himself that he needed things like this, but he couldn’t deny that the soft Stormwind bed underneath him and the soft Stormwind prince above him made him feel safe and wanted - something he’d very rarely felt since his creation, so painful and which he, sometimes, wished had not occured were it not for the fact that he was basically Azeroth’s only hope against the Legion. He tangibly relaxed his shoulders - usually so stiff and tense that it wasn’t noticeable, for it was normal.

_Anduin felt that same surge when their lips touched, and he pressed closer, seeking more. He wanted to continue like that for a long time, and that’s what he set out to do. He pulled his hand away from the book, choosing, instead, to run both hands over Wrathion’s sides, unable to do much aside from touch armor, but enjoying the proximity, anyway._

_Wrathion was warm, safe, and comfortable. He was, perhaps, the best thing Anduin could have hoped for, at that time. No one else could have made him feel as much better as Wrathion did, and it was certainly better than what he’d planned on doing in the first place - crying alone in his room._

_The young Prince’s throat suddenly constricted, and his whole body tensed. A thought had shot through his mind. Memories of what he was upset about flooded back, but accompanied by something else._

_Everyone I love gets hurt._

_He resisted the urge to pull back, and instead did the opposite, to push the thoughts away. He brought his hands up to Wrathion’s neck, held him, and kissed him more firmly. It was clumsy and awkward, but it was far better than the alternative, and it was still good on its own._

He felt Anduin tense momentarily, and decided not to comment. Instead, he slipped his gloves off - content that Anduin couldn’t see his hands - and slid one hand from the back of his head to touch the skin at his neck, while his other returned to his waist to hug him there firmly.

He very much followed Anduin’s lead, but stayed aware of his breathing and the tension in his muscles. He knew mortals to be fragile and was worried that the smallest wrong move could set him off again, especially with the distraction of the book dissipated.

_Anduin thought, for a long, horrible moment, that he wouldn’t be able to fight the wave of emotions back. However, the feel of Wrathion’s actual hand on his neck - not just his gauntlet - was enough to drive them away almost entirely. He shuddered, arched back into the touch, and broke the kiss to gasp softly._

_“Wrathion…” he murmured. The younger Prince’s skin was so warm, almost uncomfortably hot, but on the tense muscles of his neck, it felt amazing. He closed his eyes, tipped his head back, and hummed appreciatively._

Although Wrathion had been attempting to provide a stable platform for Anduin to steady himself on, the gasp made him bite his lip to stop himself from expression his appreciation of the reaction too openly. The blush showed as much as his skin allowed, and his lips twitched up at the edges involuntarily.

“Anduin?” he responded quietly, tone of voice purring. He slid his hand under the prince’s collar to rub with a firm touch at whichever parts of his shoulders he could.

_Anduin had opened his mouth to respond, but when Wrathion furthered the massage, his response came out in a shuddering breath, and he shifted how he was laying on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows and dipping his head down._

_“That- That’s nice,” he finally managed. “That feels so good…” His eyes slid closed, and he felt his mask slipping, again, although this time, he wasn’t falling back toward despair. He was simply relaxing - actually, fully relaxing._

“If you take your shirt off I can do it properly,” he stated. He brought his other hand up from Anduin’s waist to cradle his head, careful of his talons as he worked his fingers into the muscles within his reach. He pressed his lips to the top of the other prince’s head out of— want. Out of wanting to.

Wrathion hadn’t planned for this at all. But as much as that made him panic, somehow he felt… like he didn’t mind.

_He murmured wordlessly in response, just basking in the feel of Wrathion’s hands for the time being. Taking of his shirt was something of an ordeal, and he wanted to savor Wrathion’s hands for a bit, before he had to do anything else. He took some time before he finally spoke._

_“That sounds like a good plan.” His voice was airy and distant, but he still pulled away and sat back on his bed so he could start the process of stripping down._

_He pulled his sash off and dropped it to the bed next to him. Second, he unhooked his shoulder piece and dropped that aside, as well. Then came the belt, which also fell to the bed, and then he had to stand up, so he could remove his tabard. That was where the Prince hesitated, knowing that his injury would make such a simple act very difficult, and that embarrassed him._

_He tried not to let it. Instead, he grabbed his cane and rose with as much dignity as he could manage. It wasn’t much, but he was very capable of putting on the facade of poise and confidence._

Wrathion watched him intensely, and went to unclip his own armour before stopping himself. He didn’t want to have this conversation now. Instead, he hid his hands underneath the blanket and pulled it up over his chest so that would be what Anduin was lying against, not his dragonscale armour.

He hoped Anduin wouldn’t ask. He didn’t go to help the Prince stand; that would merely be insulting his abilities to take care of himself. If Anduin asked for it or showed signs he couldn’t do it alone, and only then, he would help. He silently resolved to massage his leg later. It was plain on his face that he didn’t see Anduin as any lesser for the pain he clearly endured.

“You are very strong, my Prince,” he commented simply.

_Anduin was in the process of pulling his tabard off when Wrathion spoke. He snapped his head around to stare at the dragon, as if startled by his words._

_He felt ridiculous. He was standing in his room, half-undressed, balancing on his good leg. Tears were drying on his face, his eyes were still red and irritated, and his hair was a mess. He felt awful. His muscles were tense and knotted. He’d just spent several minutes crying on his bed._

_And Wrathion was calling him strong?_

_He smiled and turned away so that the dragon couldn’t see the fresh tears that welled up in his eyes. Instead, he pulled his tabard off, taking a few deep breaths to reign himself in. The jacket and the undershirt were the last to go, and then Anduin finally turned back to face the young dragon, eyes clear, smiling._

_“I don’t feel very strong,” he admitted, voice soft. As much as he wanted to pretend to agree, he couldn’t keep the truth from Wrathion. Not only would the dragon know, Anduin just didn’t feel like hiding anything around him._

“I learned an important lesson about strength recently,” he said as if starting a story. “There are two kinds, in fact. Physical strength, which comes from without; and fortitude, which comes from within. What you lack in the former you make up ten times over.”

He wanted to beckon Anduin over, but couldn’t bring his hands out from under the covers, so he gestured with his head instead.

“Fortitude is…” he frowned, remembering what he’d been told “not about being strong to begin with. It is about enduring great hardship. And tears, injuries, all of that is merely the mark that those hardships make in their passing. You are still here, are you not? Still standing, and you are still going to go out tomorrow and greet your people and reply to those funny little letters of yours. Very few people would be able to do that, my Prince.”

He’d almost surprised himself with his eloquence; it was a new lesson that was still cementing itself in his head. He wasn’t used to having to learn things by rote; the vast majority of his knowledge had been implanted into him by the Titans, and yet… he found he enjoyed it.

_Anduin listened gratefully to Wrathion’s words, letting the younger Prince talk for a bit before he slid back down onto the bed to get situated, careful of his injured leg._

_The words resonated with Anduin for more than one reason. He’d heard them many times, and they always sounded true, but he had a strangely difficult time applying them to himself. However, there was something in the way Wrathion said them. The dragon sounded so honest, so open. He sounded as if he was still mulling the words over, himself._

_“I suppose you’re right.” He chuckled softly. “Those moments where you allow yourself to feel the pain… they are difficult. For everyone.”_

_Anduin settled down against Wrathion, nuzzled at his neck, and sighed contently. He had to shift to the side, somewhat, so no weight was rested on his bad leg and hip. Still, he managed to fit against the dragon so perfectly, even with the armor in the way. He wrinkled his nose slightly._

_“Why are you still wearing so much?”_

Wrathion’s eyes flickered away a little and his slitted pupils constricted. He chose not to address the question at all, instead carefully taking his hands out so Anduin wouldn’t see them and laying them on the blond’s back and shoulder. He hoped beginning to massage him properly would distract him; with no clothing in the way, he was able to provide a steady base with his one hand on Anduin’s back and work out the tension in the prince’s shoulders with the other. There was a lot of tension.

His facial expression was difficult to read, not because it was masked but because it was a mixture of many different things. There was the same affection as before, and something resembling worry or concern; something akin to embarassment; something like thoughtfulness. Eventually he wiped it from his face and turned back to Anduin to watch him.

_Anduin waited patiently for a reply, and just when he was about to open his mouth for a reply, Wrathion’s warm hands found his back and shoulder, and he groaned mostly because his mouth was already open, and he was poised to make sound._

_Wrathion’s hands felt good, and they were enough to distract him from his question, but only momentarily. Once he’d regained himself, Anduin directed his attention back to Wrathion’s face, taking in every detail he possibly could._

_“Wrathion… What’s wrong?” He made sure to keep his voice soft and soothing, rather than accusatory. Still, he was concerned. Wrathion was clearly hiding something, and that was- wait. “Are you hurt?” he asked, suddenly more insistent._

“No,” he snapped, then reigned in his anger. It wasn’t Anduin’s fault. “I… I just have some old scars I don’t want you worrying over.”

It was actually the truth, though not the sheer extent of it. He looked to Anduin again, defensiveness still on his face. “Don’t concern yourself with it,” he tried to reassure, then, smirked. “Or I may have to distract you with that damned book again.”

He continued rubbing his shoulder all the while, kneading the tension out and gradually working towards Anduin’s spine. He couldn’t deny it was somehow soothing to him to feel the way the older prince’s skin shifted under his hands as he breathed, reacting in varying degrees of vocality to each new knot which was worked out. He frowned a little, then smiled -  _damn you, Anduin Wrynn_.

_Old scars made sense. Anduin seemed placated, until Wrathion continued speaking. The very fact that he insisted upon letting the issue die was suspicious to Anduin._

_He was wise to Wrathion’s tricks by that point, and so he didn’t let himself get too distracted by the hands on his back. While they felt good, they didn’t distract him from learning what he wanted to learn._

_“I’ll take that risk.” He smiled reassuringly, then soothed a hand over Wrathion’s chest. “What are you really hiding, Wrathion? Are you hurt? Is it really old scars?” He couldn’t help the way worry seeped into his voice, and he didn’t much care._

“I’m fine, Anduin Wrynn,” then stopped to laugh. “This is ridiculous. You’re trying to wear me down the same way I did you. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

He brought his hand up to his face and grinned sheepishly, rubbing at his eye. (There was a patch of lightened skin there, but he kept it turned towards his own face.) “If you absolutely insist, but you have to promise me you won’t worry about them. I know what you’re like.” He muttered, “always taking on everyone else’s problems. It’s really not necessary.”

_“I- I don’t do that.” He frowned, furrowing his brows, but shook his head, suddenly, not wanting to get distracted by that little detail._

_“I promise, Wrathion. If they’re nothing to worry about, I won’t worry about them.” He smiled, hoping that would be satisfactory. Honestly, he was just glad he’d managed to weasel information out of Wrathion without having to fight too much to get it._

_And hopefully, Wrathion would forget about the book once they were done talking._

“Fine.”

He - with surprising care - rolled Anduin off himself, then began unclipping layers. There were no fewer on him than Anduin, and he seemed almost hesitant when he came to remove the last shirt from his chest. (He piled the armour on top of the book. He had plans for that book.)

[(reference image)](http://25.media.tumblr.com/55144a2625e760777e03f143a35b5873/tumblr_mnb385acFV1r6npz7o1_1280.png)

Bands of splotched beige wound their way around his torso and limbs, the borders as stark as the change they indicated. For the first time since they’d met, Wrathion’s posture was less than perfect; his shoulders curved forwards a little, and he looked at Anduin with a neutral expression which denoted he was hiding his fear.

_Anduin’s expression was more or less blank as he watched Wrathion undress. His first instinct was sympathy, but he schooled any expression away until he received a proper explanation._

_They didn’t seem to hurt Wrathion at all. If anything, they were just discolored patches. Those, alone, were perplexing, but what was of further concern was the way they seemed to join together, making lines that wrapped around the young dragon._

_Anduin’s thoughts were interrupted when he stopped taking in Wrathion’s skin and started taking on his body as a whole - his posture, his body language, his expression - and the older prince felt sympathy again._

_“Old scars?” He looked to Wrathion’s eyes and smiled, his own gaze betraying nothing but the genuine affection he felt for the younger prince._

At first Wrathion appeared irritated at the question, then he rolled his eyes briefly and decided to turn it into a game. “What do you think could cause marks like this, my Prince?”

It was a question he wasn’t sure he would be able to answer. It was the marks left over from when Wrathion had been put together by the Titan machinery in the employ of the Red Dragonflight. It had hurt. He had nightmares about it - regularly. He never told Anduin about them, although he’d told him a little about how he’d come to be.

_“I don’t know,” Anduin murmured, and without thinking, he sat up and scooted closer to the dragon and lifted a hand to run over Wrathion’s shoulder. He didn’t seem to mind if he touched the pale markings or not. He payed no particular mind to them, with his touch._

_“It looks almost as if someone tried to cut you to pieces…” His attention was drawn down to Wrathion’s hands. For a disorienting moment, he wondered how he hadn’t seen those markings, before. It occurred to him that he’d never seen Wrathion in any state of undress, before._

_He tried not to dwell on the thought as he brought his gaze back up to Wrathion’s face._

_“But they don’t look like scars,” he murmured. “Just… pale patches. Magic? They don’t hurt you, do they?”_

“No, they don’t hurt.” It was a half-truth. He’d almost flinched when Anduin worded it in that way - “cut to pieces” - and while they didn’t hurt physically, they… well. He didn’t like them.

He mumbled. “You’re too clever for your own good, did you know that?” Then, as if reciting facts from rote: “I was created by a Titan device, from three separate eggs, via removing the corrupted parts of each and assembling what was left into myself. I was conscious during this process.”

He let his eyes drop, for a while, before looking back at Anduin almost apologetically. This wasn’t supposed to be about him, for once. This was supposed to be about Anduin. He didn’t want to talk about this and yet… to lay his insecurities open in return for Anduin doing the same felt right, somehow.

_Anduin finally donned the look of horror that Wrathion was likely expecting. It wasn’t because of the markings, of course, but rather from the story, itself. He stared at Wrathion, searching his face as if it would give him the proper answer. Something. Anything at all._

_He wasn’t sure what clicked into place that brought him to a conclusion, but seconds after it had, Anduin was crushing his lips against Wrathion’s and urging him back down to the bed, hands on Wrathion’s shoulders._

_Anduin Wrynn, ever eloquent, was at a loss for what to say. However, he knew that actions could speak far louder than words. He just hoped that Wrathion would be receptive to what he wanted to do._

Wrathion took a sharp breath, then took Anduin’s head in both hands and returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm. He pulled away briefly - “careful of your leg, my Prince,” he whispered in one breath, all he was able to stay away for before going to graze his teeth over Anduin’s bottom lip.

He… wasn’t sure what had provoked that reaction. The look of horror had made him feel sick, and he was sure it had shown on his face, so maybe Anduin was aiming to reassure him. Or perhaps the Prince merely had a “thing” for people forged by fire. That would work into Wrathion’s plans nicely, if true.

Right now though, he found himself caught up in the sensation of Anduin’s cool skin on his - something he hadn’t known he needed until he had it - and the older prince’s insistent directions. Wrathion let himself lie back down, own hands exploring the blond’s neck and occasionally clawing at his shoulder.

A little recreation along the way couldn’t hurt, he supposed; desperately attempting to think himself into control of the situation again.

_Anduin only smiled in response to the warning about his leg. He resumed the kiss immediately after and moved with Wrathion until he was laying back. The blond moved over him, resting most of his weight on his good leg, to maximize the amount of time he would have to do what he wanted._

_Slowly, he began running his cool (by comparison) hands over Wrathion’s torso, grazing his fingers along the younger Prince’s chest and paying no particular mind to any of the markings. He wanted Wrathion to know that he wasn’t put off by them, that he wasn’t disturbed or disgusted, and the only reason he reacted the way he did was because of the nature of the story, itself._

_He didn’t want anyone close to him to suffer again, and while he couldn’t prevent or undo what had happened to Wrathion, he could certainly try to make the results more palatable._

_Rather soon, he broke the kiss and brought his head down to graze his lips over Wrathion’s collarbone, again paying no special mind to the markings - not avoiding them, but not lavishing them with attention, either._

Wrathion’s head dropped back and he let his chest rise and fall to Anduin’s touch. He urged him gently to be a little… firmer, with a hand to the back of the head and a whispered “I won’t break if you bite me, you know.”

Anduin was giving him such attention, such devotion - he thrived off it regardless of its source, but Anduin was the only person he felt compelled to return it to personally. He found it a little uncomfortable how easily the older prince commanded his respect, but feeling the touch… he hadn’t been held in so long.

It was true, his short life had been full of dreadful things. And he’d been right earlier - Anduin was taking it upon himself to counter them. But he supposed that’s what Anduin was. Where Wrathion had scars, Anduin had clean skin - and vice-versa; where Anduin was dark, Wrathion found hope. And he supposed that complementary nature was why he let the grunt of satisfaction rise in his throat instead of hiding it.

_He considered that for a moment, but decided he would wait until later. For that moment, Anduin had a mission in mind._

_Not only did he not bite, Anduin decided to change his tactics entirely. He shifted and placed a kiss directly over the discoloration on Wrathion’s collar bone. Then, he trailed his way down, following the splotches down across Wrathion’s chest. As he busied himself with that, Anduin’s hands found the markings on Wrathion’s sides._

_Anduin touched and kissed, occasionally letting out a low, pleased hum. It was a reaction both to Wrathion’s hands and his own ministrations. He found himself enjoying his own actions far more than he’d thought, even though they were supposed to be strictly comforting._

“What  _are_  you doing?” There was a note of irritation in his voice, but nothing overwhelming. He ran his fingers through Anduin’s hair and watched him closely. His eyes dilated as he watched the Prince have his way - he was gentle and yet, it seemed to Wrathion, somehow urgent, as if he was seeking something.

Wrathion felt useless. It wasn’t that he was not enjoying this - far from it - it was that he’d come here with the intention to poke fun at Anduin, ended up comforting him, and now it was him who was being comforted and it was silly. He didn’t need comforting. He’d come to terms with the manner of his creation long ago, he told himself.

“Where are you going with this,” he asked, voice equal parts curiosity and wariness. It wasn’t that he minded, it was just… Anduin always seemed to have something in mind, and it wasn’t always something which Wrathion agreed on. Like the time he’d tried to make him meet with his father.

_“Hm?” Anduin looked up to Wrathion, resting his cheek on the dragon’s chest. “You seemed ashamed of them, and I want you to know that they’re nothing to be ashamed of.” He ran his hand along the “scar” that went across Wrathion’s stomach. “They also seem to cause discomfort, though not physically. It would be good if you could associate them with something better.”_

_As if to illustrate his point, Anduin placed a soft kiss to the marking before sliding up so that he was laying more fully on Wrathion and that their faces were close to one another._

_“And I’d like to think I’m something better.” He grinned, well aware that it was a silly joke, but he hoped it would make the younger Prince feel better._

_Naturally, he didn’t see it as a failing on Wrathion’s part. Honestly, he hadn’t even noticed that he’d taken it upon himself to ease one of Wrathion’s problems - taking the burden onto himself, at least partially. It was something he’d always done and never questioned._

Wrathion couldn’t help it - he blushed. More out of feeling vulnerable than anything; it wasn’t fair. How could Anduin read him so well? It was infuriating.

“You’re doing the martyr thing again,” he murmured lowly, though far from going to pull Anduin away from him. “Though by all means do continue. You’re one of the few people it becomes on any level, my Prince. Usually I can’t stand that sort of thing.”

He flexed his fingers out over the blond’s scalp slowly, then ran his fingers out through his hair, smoothing it, before repeating the gesture. He watched him closely, taking in every detail about the way he moved as he kissed, the strange similarities between the tone of the marks and the tone of his face, the faint freckles dusted on the bridge of his nose from the start of summer, the way his blue eyes flickered about from one part of his body to another—

Ah. Oh dear, it suddenly struck him. Yes - he was quite in love.

He smiled faintly at his impossible little prince and let him continue his work.

_Honestly, he was perplexed. He was only trying to help Wrathion out with a problem, and yet that somehow made him a martyr? All compliments aside, Anduin was fixated on the idea that he ever did such a thing. He wasn’t a martyr._

_Well, someone had called him that when the Divine Bell almost killed him, but that was considerably different than kissing a few light patches of Wrathion’s skin._

_The thoughts almost died away when Wrathion started massaging at his scalp. His eyes slid half-closed and he hummed appreciatively, momentarily distracted. He began moving his fingers, teasing them over a few more of Wrathion’s markings before opening his eyes._

_“Martyr thing?” he asked, his voice a pleased murmur. “What martyr thing?”_

“You always have to shoulder everybody’s burdens. It’s really not necessary.” Experimentally, he began running his hands over what he’d read about as common erogenous zones - nape of the neck, ridge of the ears, the run of the spine as it traced through Anduin’s muscles (strengthened, even in his injury, by his archery practice). “At least let me return a little of your trouble, hm?”

He watched him carefully for reactions. “Especially mine. I would be nothing if I had not come to terms with the method of my creation, yes?” He was lying again, but he wanted to reassure Anduin that he didn’t need his attentions in this way. Well. Didn’t want.

“You’ll exhaust yourself one day, and that would be a shame. I rather prefer you shining brightly, than tired and listless.”

_“I help people,” he murmured even as Wrathion explored his body with his hands, bringing up low shivers and quiet groans. “As a ruler and a healer. It’s what I want to do. It’s what I like to do.” His eyes were half-lidded as he stared back to Wrathion, an almost lazy smile on his face. _“It’s what I live to do, in a way. That’s how it feels, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He ran a hand over Wrathion’s hip, then up over his side, to come to rest on his cheek. “It makes me happy to help you, and the fact that I can do it like this?” He stroked Wrathion’s cheek to prove a point. (He had to resist the urge to rock his hips, not wanting to scare the dragon off.) “It’s an added bonus.” _A low chuckle, and he nuzzled at Wrathion’s cheek._  
 _“It’s quite selfish, really.”___

“I don’t think you could ever be selfish if you tried,” he chuckled. “I’m merely concerned it may be your downfall one day.” Pause. “I wouldn’t like that at all.”

He let his one hand ghost over whichever of Anduin’s collarbones was available to him and then, experimentally, slid a thumb over his nipple. “No - it’s my job to be selfish. The Black Prince, Last of my Kind. Of course I would want everything to myself, is that not true?” He cupped the other prince’s head and pulled him in for another kiss. (Wrathion wasn’t very good at kissing, but he was learning pretty fast.)

“Including the privilege of bringing you joy, although that is one which I suppose I can deign to share if necessary; provided, of course, that doing so is what you want.” He traced his fingertips along Anduin’s arm, looking him in the eyes.

_Anduin was going to reply, but when Wrathion’s finger found his nipple, whatever words he had died in his throat. They were replaced with a rather undignified, startled noise, and he stared down at Wrathion, suddenly a bit confused and awkward._

_As the black dragon continued talking, Anduin felt heat rise to his face and pool somewhere decidedly lower. He tried to school his expression to something mimicking neutrality, although the way he left his eyes wide open betrayed how new this situation was to him._

_He leaned into the kiss when it was given, and he could feel his heart beating faster and faster._

_“Well I-” He cleared his throat, stalling for time while he tried to figure out a poised and elegant way to phrase his answer. “Go- go right ahead.”_

_Good job, Wrynn._

Wrathion reigned in his actions a little - in theory so as not to scare the prince (and to think Anduin was worrying about scaring him! -ed) but in reality it was at least in part because he wasn’t entirely sure what to do himself, either. He’d read about this sort of thing in more depth than he cared to think about for this exact eventuality, but somehow actually being here with those wide blue eyes boring into him was an entirely different matter.

He pulled Anduin close for another series of brief kisses, shifting his weight between each one so that Anduin was lying on his side (no weight on his bad leg). He kept his hands to relatively safe areas for now, one cupped at the back of the blond’s head to stroke his hair (it was so soft and fine all the time), the other stroking in soft circles at his side and lower back.

He felt his own breath deepen as he continued; he didn’t usually like being made to feel things but this was different somehow. It frustrated him and interested him at the same time.

_Anduin was grateful for the slowed pace, especially since he was experiencing the same unexpected realness of the situation that Wrathion was._

_He, too, had read books. He’d thought about getting to a moment like this countless times. He’d replayed scenarios in his head over and over, but none of them prepared him for how the moment would actually go._

_The Prince of Stormwind’s breathing was deep and rushed, and his lips were parted. He was already absorbed in the sensations the moment had brought about, and when the weight was taken off of his legs - especially his bad one - he couldn’t help the audible groan that escaped him._

_The sound was actually quite loud, and Anduin’s face reddened considerably when he heard his own voice. He closed his eyes and laughed sheepishly, more embarrassed about that than he felt he should have been. Perhaps it was the whole awkward… thing. The whole moment._

_He felt fantastic, giddy all of a sudden, and he couldn’t help the way he grinned, the way he laughed - soft and bright - and he wrapped his arms around Wrathion to pull him into another kiss. This one, he hoped, would be much deeper than the ones they’d been sharing, that night, but he was willing to be patient, to take his time and savor the moment that he was given._

Wrathion couldn’t help the grin that crept at the corners of his parted lips as Anduin groaned, and the pure admiration in his eyes as he laughed. How could a creature this… well, perfect in every colloquial sense of the word, exist?

He let the kiss easily, parting his lips and bringing his tongue just a little forwards to meet Anduin’s. Hot breaths rolled out of his nose, like the wind in the Badlands on a midsummer afternoon (though Anduin’s face, of course, was far prettier and less full of bad memories than that place; and he hoped it would remain ever the latter. He couldn’t care less for the former, in truth).

With confidence, the hand on Anduin’s waist gradually, predictably and slowly began to move downwards to his hips; then at the same pace, come back up just a little. It lingered at his belt, too-warm fingers stroking along the edge of it so the pad of his thumb just slipped beneath. Then, slower than before, moved down to stroke at his rear through his clothing. Wrathion paid close attention to every form of reaction from his Prince; it was his only way of learning what he liked, and what he found appropriate, after all.

_Anduin wondered if Wrathion had any idea how much he was helping, how good he was making Anduin feel. Wrathion was warm and safe. Wrathion was comforting and strong. Wrathion was hot and getting him far more flustered than he’d ever expected._

_The little touches were affecting him greatly, to the point where he was almost worried what would happen if Wrathion stopped teasing him. When the dragon’s hot hand drifted lower, toward his hip, Anduin arched up and tried to press into the feeling._

_When Wrathion pulled away, the most undignified, needy, pleading whine rose from the back of his throat. It wasn’t bratty or demanding. Rather, Anduin was asking for Wrathion to continue. The younger Prince had taken control of the situation, and Anduin was happy to let Wrathion do as he pleased._

_Anduin, himself, wasn’t doing much more than digging his fingers into Wrathion’s hair and pulling him close, holding onto him tightly as he enjoyed the kiss, basked in Wrathion’s attention. He felt so selfish, and yet it felt so good._

Wrathion took an obvious breath to steady himself. He broke from the kiss and, moving to nip ever-so-gently at Anduin’s ear, whispered, “may I remove your belt, my Prince?”

He pressed another kiss against his ear before looking back at his face. He held himself only an inch or so away, finding himself unwanting to be further. He squeezed at Anduin’s rear, tightly, before moving his hand back up to his belt; teasing his thumb underneath the cloth against the dip where Anduin’s pelvis curved inwards. It was so hard to wait for an answer rather than simply pushing his face back against Anduin’s as soon as he was able.

And it was even harder knowing that he’d have to take care of his own needs, at least for tonight. One - albiet minor - (what Wrathion perceived as a) freakout was enough; it was a problem for another time.

_“Yes!” he gasped, far too quickly. “Please.”_

_If it weren’t for how worked up he was, he’d have been embarrassed at his eagerness. At the very least, he might have expected Wrathion to joke about it. However, he was getting a bit too carried away by the excitement and anticipation._

_“Please,” he whined against Wrathion’s lips. He found himself wanting nothing more, at that moment, than to feel Wrathion’s inhumanly warm hand around his cock, and - Light help him - he was too nervous to say as much out loud._

Wrathion would have loved to make a comment, and he was sure he would later, but for now he was simply too turned on by the fact that  _Anduin Wrynn_  was begging him and— with that voice of his—

It took Wrathion a few fumbled false starts to get Anduin’s belt loose, but once he had the rest was no match for his usually dexterous fingers. He gasped with a heady rush of arousal as he felt exactly how hard the blond was. His touch was somehow clumsy - had he never felt one before? - and kissed his Prince desperately as he began to explore his length.

Three fingers extended downwards towards his base, the thumb resting over initially - and then stroking over - the tip. It was unclear whether his gentle touch was teasing, consideration, or nervousness.

_Anduin had regained just enough sense of mind to quip at Wrathion, make fun of how long it was taking him with the belt, but just when he’d thought of the perfect thing to say, it was driven from his mind when that unbelievably hot hand found him. The noise he made, instead, was a mix of a startled gasp and a satisfied groan._

_“Oh, yes,” he rumbled, breaking the kiss momentarily to speak. He ran his hands over Wrathion’s cheeks, then dipped them lower, toward the dragon’s pants, seeking to return the favor. Wrathion was exploring and uncertain, and Anduin didn’t want to make him go at that, alone, without taking any pleasure for himself._

_Nononononono_ — no, think fast, or he’s going to  _realise_ , he’s going to  _say_  it - redirect without making a fuss - get his hands away without pushing them— pull them somewhere else. Restraints! What could he use— his sash, that would have to do.

“Not so fast, my Prince,” he purred in a way which he hoped covered his frantic inner scrambling. Smoothly, he shifted Anduin’s weight and brought his hands up - both of them - to grasp the older prince’s wrists and bring them over his head. In a deft move, he grabbed his sash with one hand and looped it around Anduin’s wrists.  _Please let him find this arousing_ , he mentally begged whichever deities might be listening - even the Old Gods if it meant Anduin wouldn’t say what he could practically hear ringing in his ears if he got his hands down there.  _I don’t know what to do otherwise._

_“What?” Anduin was very confused when Wrathion stopped him, to the point where he didn’t avoid the grab to his hands. “Wrathion? What are you doing?”_

_He allowed his hands to be tied, mostly because he was very confused about the whole situation. He craned his neck to look at the makeshift bonds, then turned his attention back down to Wrathion._

_“Are you all right?” He’d noticed that frantic hint to Wrathion’s motion, and that worried him. Were there more things that Wrathion didn’t want him to see? Was it more scarring? Anduin would happily respect his privacy, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t worry._

_It was a bit hard to focus, however, because as he tugged on the bindings just a bit, the blush on his face started to deepen, and his breathing picked up again. It was a distracting sensation, to say the least._

Wrathion breathed a sigh of relief and passed it off as satisfaction. “Now you can’t distract me from my task,” he grinned.

He kissed Anduin’s neck with just the hint of a bite, licking at his cheek with the twin tips of his tongue before returning his hand to where it was before his little panic.

He kept his other hand at Anduin’s wrists, pinning him down there and giving him something to squirm against as he grasped the older prince’s length once more and began to massage it with rippling pressure of his fingers. It was an unconventional method, exercised as though he had read about how, in theory, to stimulate a penis but never actually touched one before. Not even his own.

_“Distra- oh!” Anduin tried to arch up into Wrathion’s hand, but he was held down quite well. A wave of pleasure rushed through him, and he curled forward as well as he possibly could and groaned through grit teeth._

_Wrathion was very good with his hands. That was no surprise. The feeling of being tied up - restrained in such a way - was adding to the sensations in ways that Anduin had read about, but never suspected he would actually experience. The blond squirmed and tried to buck his hips with Wrathion’s hand. He stopped making much noises louder than his heavy breathing or the occasional soft grunt._

“Mmm, that’s better. Focus on your pleasure for once, my Prince. You deserve it.” His voice was no more than a purr the whole time, and he pressed his lips hotly back against Anduin’s, beginning to give small encouraging noises at the back of his throat every time he pushed his hips up.

He kept his hand as a steady presence for Anduin to rock himself against, letting him stay in relative control of his own pleasure even tied down like this. The intention here wasn’t to remove his agency altogether; just the parts of it which were less beneficial for Wrathion.

He grew increasingly tempted to take him into his mouth, but that would damage his ability to keep control of him. He reminded himself that he would have many more nights to enjoy Anduin Wrynn in, and that even just the memory of having him writhing and panting and desperate underneath him like this was quite enough to keep him flustered for many nights to come - whether they involved the White Pawn’s company or not.

_“Mm, but-” He interrupted himself with a gasp. “But you…”_

_He was finding it remarkably hard to focus on making words, at that moment. He didn’t want to just lay back and soak up all of the pleasure, although he had to admit, it felt fantastic. He wanted nothing more than to give Wrathion what he was getting, to bring this much pleasure to someone else. However, Wrathion seemed intent on the idea of letting Anduin lay back and enjoy something. “For once.”_

_It was hard to keep focusing on the idea, and Anduin felt his resolve on the matter slipping. Soon enough, he was laying back, head pushed back against his pillow, grinding his hips and focusing on his own pleasure. Something about that felt almost too good. It was oddly… liberating._

_That realization and the freedom that came with it were surprising and far too much for the Alliance Prince. He gasped and clenched his fists. His hips surged upwards, and he gave a choked but very loud cry of Wrathion’s name as he came across the younger Prince’s hand._

Wrathion panted and grinned, sounding almost as satisfied as Anduin. Perhaps he could understand a little of what the prince meant by bringing joy giving joy to onesself, at least in this context. He could feel himself soaked against his cloth underpants, but paid no heed to it in favour of bringing his hand up to his face with an air of curiosity. He licked cautiously at first - and finding it to his liking, cleaned his hand off, inches from the blond’s face.

Afterwards, he kissed him again - leisurely and fondly, stroking his hair with the hand freed from loosing the makeshift bindings. He made sure as best he could that Anduin was comfortable. He wanted him to fall asleep before he had any more questions. He’d originally planned to leave as soon as that happened, but… maybe staying for a few hours wouldn’t hurt.

_Anduin shuddered as he relaxed back against the bed, eyes closed as he basked in the fading warmth and pleasure. He opened his eyes in time to see Wrathion licking his fingers clean, and he felt heat rise immediately back to his cheeks._

_Before he could say anything, he was kissed, and he was very grateful for that, because he didn’t want to say anything silly. When his arms were released, he brought them down to wrap around Wrathion, to hold him close through the kiss. After a little bit, however, he broke it and leaned back, smiling awkwardly._

_“That was… That was…” He laughed softly and grinned, leaning forward to press his forehead to Wrathion’s. He was already getting sleepy._

Wrathion stroked his hair tenderly and smiled honestly. “I shall remember it fondly, my Prince, because it involved your smile.”

“You should rest,” he commented. “It’s late.” Gently nudged his nose against the other prince’s. “I will stay long enough to ensure you sleep comfortably.”

_“Thank you, Wrathion,” he murmured, still drifting off surprisingly quickly. He made sure to pull Wrathion close to himself and hold onto him. He was already comfortable, where he was laying._

_It wasn’t hard at all for him to fall asleep, feeling much better than he had when he’d first entered the room. He and Wrathion had shared such intimate sides of one another. The whole experience left him feeling warm and content._

Wrathion listened carefully as his prince fell asleep. He listened to the way his breathing calmed and slowed, the change in heart beat. It soothed him to hear it slow so much. Despite all Anduin Wrynn had been through, his heartbeat would still stay steady and easy at rest.

It didn’t feel like long to Wrathion before it rose again, but he soon realised he’d fallen asleep himself and given the candle had burned out, for more than a couple of hours. But Anduin’s heartbeat had risen, so something was wrong.

He gently hummed and stroked his hair. He stayed close enough for long enough to wait for it to go back down again. A nightmare, most likely.

He hoped, one day, that Anduin would be there to comfort him through his nightmares, too. But not today. Satisfied Anduin was truly asleep, he picked himself up out of the bed and carefully paced around it to pick up his armour. He placed it back on, and placed the book in the pouch. He was going to read it when he got back.

He turned into his whelp form and prepared for the flight back to the Tavern in the Mists from King’s Landing - but severely underestimated his tiredness. He found himself drifting down on a sea breeze into Left’s arms.

“Ready to go home, your Majesty?” she whispered, tucking the whelp into her uniform. “Yes, Left,” he murmured, before closing his nictating membrane and then his eyelids. “Though I do so wish he was coming with me.”


End file.
